Happily Never After
by MournfulSeverity
Summary: Swept away by the tales of finer things, of a love one could only dream of, Merope lives her life wishing to be in a fairytale. When the opportunity to live her own becomes available, will it end like the fairytales she remembers? Canon Compliant
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The characters and world belong to JK Rowling, top quote to Rachel Bloom & creators, and song lyrics are from "The Girl I Left Behind Me". Everything else is mine.**

**A/N: HUGE thanks to iNiGmA who dried my tears of frustration and kept me going with this story that didn't want to be written.**

**We're told love conquers all, but that only applies to the heroes**

\- **Rachel Bloom**

Xxxx

_With locks that shimmered beneath a summer sun as if the strands had been crafted from gold themselves, Alcyone captured every wandering eye of the village. Her incomparable beauty tugged at the heart strings of everyone who set their sights on her and devastation when they earned not a glance in return. Her brown eyes were reminiscent of the oak tree that flourished beneath the shadow of the castle upon the hill, interspersed with golden rays that shone down from above. Although many had strived for her beauty, none could win her heart._

_Xxxx_

A resounding thud drew her from her thoughts. What was once white ceramic burst against the ramshackle wall beside her, reducing the bowl to little more than shards and dust. Her frail hands shook from the impact and she wrung them against each other, pulling at her spindly fingers.

"Ya' filthy little squib." His voice was caustic, eating away at her as he approached. The embers inside taking hold, erupting into a raging fire that shown from his eyes. Merope shrunk backward at the look she had come to know, the ice of her being melting with his flame as he stole another part of her. "Stupid bitch." His lip curled upward. The few teeth in his mouth that remained had been stained with tobacco. Marvolo lifted a hand and her eyelids slammed shut, expecting the slap, the stinging of her flesh as his palm was dragged across her cheek.

There was a metallic clang and then a clatter as the pan she had been stirring hit the floor. Stew splattered across her bare feet, burning what flesh it touched and staining the hem of her already speckled dress. "Start over. _Don't _burn it this time."

She turned with little more than a nod, words escaping her in his fury. He stomped away from her in a huff, words mumbled under his liquored breath. Merope squeezed her hands tightly, willing the trembling to cease. Her shaking lips were pressed into a line and her eyes squeezed shut. A lilting hum escaped her lips, quiet so only she could hear.

_Her golden hair in ringlets fair, her eyes like diamonds shining, her slender waist, her heavenly face, that leaves my heart a pining. _Words whispered by candlelight with a smile repeated in her mind, her mother's sweet voice bursting from the recesses she contained it in. When the song had calmed her did, she open her eyes, staring at the mess that had been made.

When the pot had been filled again, set on the wood cook stove to boil, she crouched. Her fingers scraped across sharp slivers that threatened to burrow beneath her skin as she collected them into a pile. She'd stopped caring long ago at the cuts that appeared, the bruises. Days that were worth living for hadn't existed in some time, but she had no way to escape. She was of age, old enough to leave her father and brother to rot, to chase after the fabled love stories she had been told. Only the lack of resources held her here.

She had little money, and no real way to earn it, no one she knew, and no where to stay. These walls barely contained the storms that raged outside it, the wind that battered the siding, the rain that spilled through the cracks. But, it was protection nonetheless that she wouldn't be able to find elsewhere.

The three of them survived on the bare minimum, but without it, they would have perished long ago. It was more than she had beyond this town.

Her hair was lank, an unpleasant, ratty dark brown that hung around her face. The ends were split and uneven and she knew little of how to care for it. Her mother had braided it down her back when she was young, but the memory of how to do so had fled her.

Merope's eyes were dull, the brown of a decayed tree that had been left to rot for far too long. She was too thin, every bone in her body protruding through her papery skin. The result of never having enough. Her clothes were stained and dotted with holes. They hadn't been washed in some time, and now possessed a dirt she would never be rid of. She'd been made shabby by circumstance, unlovable by genetics. All she wanted in this world was someone who could love her and to love them in return.

But, her father. He was the ever-present thorn in her side. Her brother, Morfin might have had a chance once. She had fond memories of when they were younger, rare memories, even, of her father smiling. Of when they had lived on the edge of happiness. But, when her Mother had left this earth, she, Merope, had been blamed. She had fought against them, had begged them to believe the circumstances were different, but after years of distance, she couldn't be sure. Had it been her that caused her Mother's death in the field that day?

It was the thought that plagued her, had destroyed all of them. She clutched the golden locket that hung just above her décolletage, grazing the tip of her blue, tattersall dress. The cool sensation of gold pressing into her skin, warming her despite it.

"Aren't you done _yet?"_

The shout of anger made her jump, her hand jerked from her neckline back to the mess she tried to clean, cutting her finger finally. She wrapped the hem of her dress around the slice, urging the blood to stop. The stains it held were already irreversible, what was a little more?

"In…in a…in a minute." Merope stammered, wanting to shout back that it would already be done if he hadn't thrown the first batch to the floor. What they had this time could hardly be called soup. What vegetables they had been able to buy now lay scattered across the floor amongst the bits of glass. In his hatred, her father had wasted what food they had, leaving little else to go in the pot.

She was half tempted to serve them anyway, to watch as the glass cut the gums of her father and brother, claiming that she herself wasn't hungry. What ingredients she had left could do little more than flavor the water. She wouldn't be missing out on a meal. It would serve them right for the way that they treated her. But, she knew the beating that would come after her, and that wasn't worth it.

The water had been tinted an interesting mixture of green and brown, a result of the vegetables she had been able to salvage and the chunks of mystery meat she hadn't yet put in the stew the first time. It was scooped into chipped, ceramic bowls, as equally dirty as the rest of their surroundings.

She sat beside the people that were little more than acquaintances these days, mortal enemies if she wanted to be dramatic. Little attention was given to her brother as he talked, his hands waving wildly as he relayed his "heroic" tale of how he slayed the great beast, the grass snake. She was sure she'd see the poor animal's body nailed up someplace to serve as a warning to the world in a few days time.

She listened to her father boast about his incredible son, thankful to have one child that was worthwhile as he drunk from a bottle of alcohol, they hadn't had money to purchase. That likely hadn't _been _purchased.

That night she huddled beneath her tattered blanket atop the worn and lumpy mattress that would never be replaced. Her stomach ached, yearning for a meal she hadn't had in days. One that was more than just flavored water. One that they _could _have had, had her father not ruined everything like usual.

Merope faced the wall so no one could see the hot tears that ran silent down her cheeks, her throat sore from containing the cry that threatened to break free. The words of her mother's song played like a record in her mind, willing herself to sleep. As tiredness finally set in, she thought of nothing but her knight in shining armor that she still hoped would take her away.

Xxxx

_Edmund the Enchanting's attempts to woo her were spurned, for Alcyone held no interest in the man. He grew frustrated in time. No one had denied the prince, not once had his attention been unreturned or his wishes unanswered. Yet, the fair-haired maiden defied him. She ignored his requests to stroll with him in the gardens surrounding the castle grounds, to join him in the courtyard, or even beside the lake. She returned his gifts in contempt and his affections were of no interest to her._

_His council tried to reason with him. They told of other beauties that resided in the village below the castle, of princesses in far away lands. But, none could compare. He had made her his quest and, in his selfishness, had lost sight of everything else. _

Xxxx

The summer sun beat down on her, beads of sweat pulled from beneath her skin to drip freely from her forehead as she worked. Her fingers worked hard, scrubbing dirty fabric across a washboard in desperation, trying to rid them of any sense of shabbiness. It was a useless attempt, shabby had never been the word to describe them, villagers choosing much crueler words instead. Never would she be a fair maiden beside her husband. No cloche hat, no tailor-made dresses, no expensive jewelry hanging around her neck. She was stuck instead with clothing that had gone out of style more than a decade ago – her mother's clothes – and an heirloom with no meaning that hung around her neck.

As she worked, she dreamed of finer things. Soap bubbled up around her fingers, the tips long ago calloused from such work, but sore all the same. Her skin was cracked and dry and stung in the suds. If it gave her any reprieve, it was the cool water against her otherwise too warm flesh. How refreshing it would be to dip herself inside this basin, to let clean water flow over her skin. How she dreamed of the oceans her mother told her of, of the waves crashing over her and pulling her under. Even fear of the undertow couldn't placate her desire.

A light trill of laughter broke into her thoughts, her imagination crumbling. There would never be sand beneath her toes, the tickle of seaweed across her ankles. She instead was faced with prickly weeds below her bare knees, scratching at skin that had lost its tenderness in a time she could never remember. Merope would live her life as a bystander, listening to the clop of horses coming up the dirt road, rather than on one herself.

She gazed up beneath the fringe of hair that hung into her face. She wiped at the strands that clung to her forehead in sweat, wiping away the salty drips that threatened to fall into her eyes as the laugh came again, followed by the name she knew so well, "Tom".

Cecilia came into view first, her blonde hair shimmering beneath the sun, specks of gold glistening within the strands that danced around her shoulders. Her full, red lips separated with a smile of laughter as she tilted her head backward at some unheard joke.

_Her golden hair in ringlets fair. _The line rang inside her again, a sickening feeling brewing in her stomach. An association she had never made. Her washing stopped; her attention drawn instead to the tears that stung the corners of her eyes. She had grown accustomed to the rides Tom and Cecilia would take, to the flattering smile that formed on Tom's lips, making him impossibly even more attractive.

Her heart gave a flutter of distressed want inside her chest, a beat of desire at the sight of him. His black hair was parted on one side, flowing like waves of ink as the light curls hung over his forehead. The way he brushed his hair back into its place with a careless flick of his fingers set her alight. His hickory shaded eyes danced with slivers of amber beneath the morning sun. But, those glances, those smiles, those gestures, the chiseled beauty in Tom's face were all reserved for only one woman, and it wasn't her. It wasn't Merope.

Merope wanted to flee, to run inside her home as a frightened child might. She wanted to escape the loving looks that so quickly turned to ones of hatred as they neared her. The comments of distaste on such a situation, such "_people". _

Cecilia didn't care to look past the decrepit house, to the people inside. She didn't bother to read the pleas on Merope's face as she begged to be taken away from this place. No, the Gaunts were a hovel to be dealt with, wiped away as if they had never existed. Never had the thought crossed her shallow mind that just _maybe_ this wasn't how Merope wanted to live.

Tom spared her, for that Merope was grateful. He diverted Cecilia's comments of disgust, not agreeing that such a place should be demolished. But, her comments weren't met with disagreement either. He agreed that her, Merope's brother, was mad, that her father wasn't much better, but nothing had been given about _her_. She chose to believe that Tom felt something for her, that his heart yearned inside his chest just as hers did. She couldn't settle on the idea that she was simply unremarkable, less than ordinary.

Then there a tumble, a refined shriek, a muffled thud of body hitting dirt, a loud exhale as his breath was forced from his lungs. And Merope was up. She didn't know what she intended, what she could do, but her steps formed across the weedy garden, approaching before she fully even knew why. And the dappled Colt was running, leaving its rider sprawled across the ground.

"You're…you're hurt." The words escaped her mouth in a hesitant tremble, and she crouched beside him. He held one hand in the other, rubbing at his skin and she suspected it had been caught in the reigns.

"You must have spooked him." The voice was cold, coming from high above as Cecilia hadn't even bothered to dismount her horse.

"With a barrel and…and some water?" Her eyes flicked back to her washings. She realized then that she was sopping wet, the purple of her dress nearly black. She felt the warmth of blood creeping up her throat and filling her cheeks at her appearance. _Focus on your breath_, she reminded herself, the voice of her mother once again ringing in her ears. _Tom won't like a stutter; it isn't a sign of a refined young lady_. Ignoring the fact that _no _bit of her signaled "refined", she took a series of deep breaths, calming herself before she spoke. She had waited for a chance to even speak to Tom for years. Ever since the moment she had first laid eyes on him and unladylike emotions had flooded her being, now, it was here. Merope wasn't going to let Cecilia stand in her way, nor the sweat and dirt that clung to her, and certainly not her stutter either.

"You best get his horse." She sounded her words slowly, avoiding either of their faces until she could be sure it was under control. "I doubt he can sit beside you in such unnecessarily extravagant attire you choose to wear or the fact that you seem incapable of riding a horse properly." She nodded to the fact that Cecilia rode sidesaddle, rather than straddling the horse with both legs.

Tom was speechless, seeming to enjoy the interaction while Cecilia's expression had soured. Her mouth was puckered to the side as if she'd eaten a particularly sour lemon. "It's for the best." Tom interrupted. "Father won't appreciate Danford getting hurt."

Cecilia made yet another face, consenting not only that she would fetch Danford, but that the two of them would have a chat about this later. Merope couldn't help the smile of satisfaction threatening to cross her features. She rose from the ground, a hand lifted out to the man still sprawled across the dirt. He gripped it, using little of his own weight to stand and nearly pulling her over on top of him. The sound of trotting hooves resumed, the filly and her rider heading past the end of the little town the three of them called home.

"Let's get you a drink, shall we?"

Tom glanced to her ramshackle home, incapable of hiding his distaste, shame sparked in the hollow of her stomach, but she pressed forth. "The water comes from the same well as yours, I expect." It was true, with only one well in town, he'd be hard pressed to find another water source that she didn't share. Another thought occurred to her. "And…and I'm alone." It was true for most days. Her father pissing his time away at the pub, her brother out hunting for his next victim, muggle and animal alike. She wasn't sure which statement had done it, but the flicker of a smile lifted his lips.

"Yes, lets."


	2. Chapter 2

Merope led the way, Tom hobbling along behind her with one hand inside his riding Mackintosh. "Your ankle?" Her eyes flicked to the leg that seemed to limp.

"It smarts a bit, yes."

She leaned into the barely latched door, pushing it open with her hip. She didn't allow her face to fall on the few belongs of her family, nor his face when he saw it. The embarrassment here was too sharp, not as easily hidden as before. "You can lay your Mack there. Isn't necessary without Danford."

"No, I suppose it's not." He responded quietly, laying it across the back of the chair she had gestured to.

The slosh of water poured into two, nearly clean glasses filled the momentary silence between them. "How do you know so much about horses?"

Merope faced him, a sudden intake of breath escaping her as she caught sight of him, or rather the trim, white shirt that traced his muscles. "My mum." She answered when she had gotten her bearings "We had one once. She taught me how to ride."

"You ride?" He took his seat at the uneven kitchen table which wobbled with the brush of movement he had placed on it.

"Did. Here." She placed his glass in front of him, sipping tenderly at her own. It kept her nervous hands from fidgeting, her lips from spewing unnecessary chatter. "It's been a long time, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten." She turned her back on him, returning to a cupboard of the kitchen. This was her one chance. She wasn't going to spoil it with sobbing tears over her long ago passed mother. Her drink was placed on the wooden counter as she rummaged, only his voice breaking through her distraction.

"That wasn't nice you know, with Cecilia. She'll never let me forget it." He gave a chuckle that was surprisingly light, yet pleasant all the same. "But, you're right, you know." She stared back at him in time to see the shake of his head, the fall of black curls across his forehead, the dimpled smile on his face. Her heart giving an irritating flutter.

"H-here." She set a goblet in front of him brimming with teal colored potion. His brow wrinkled in consternation before he looked at her, a black – and perfect – eyebrow raised in questioning. "It'll help your ankle, likely the burn on your hand from the reigns too."

"I couldn't-, I'll be fine." Tom gave her a weak grin, pushing it back toward her.

"Please, I insist."

He sucked his upper lip in, rubbing his bottom teeth against it in thought when the sound of hooves broke the moment. She exhaled a sigh of disappointment as Tom stood. He bent forward suddenly, picking up the goblet and tipping the contents back down his throat. With a final smile she took as a thanks, he grabbed his Mack. He covered himself once again, the toned muscles she had previously admired, and was off through the door. When it shut with a thud, she collapsed into the chair he had vacated, groaning as her forehead was laid across her arms on the table.

Xxxx

_"The girl, what is it you see in her?"_

_Edmund turned, surprised by the voice. A woman of stooped stature stared up at him, her nose hooked and her skin a pale green hue. He nearly recoiled at the sight of her before his eyes glazed at the thought of Alcyone, the dreamy look that crossed him morphing his features into something lesser. "She's the most beguiling lady I've ever had the pleasure to lay my eyes on."_

_"Beauty? That is what's most important to you?"_

_"There is nothing of greater importance."_

_A shuffle of fabric sounded, the stooped woman reaching into the tattered robes that covered her. She procured a corked bottle, holding it out for him to take. The liquid inside a dusty pink, glittering despite the cloud covered sky and no light to catch on the specks within. "And you'd do anything? To make her yours?"_

_Edmund clutched at his heart as if the idea physically pained him. "I would."_

_"Then this, is what you require."_

_He clutched at the bottle greedily, holding it tightly in his hand as though it was the most precious thing in this world. A string wound around the top, a slip of yellowed parchment long ago attached to it. He glanced at the cursive scrawled across it, mumbling to himself. _

_One small drop for maiden fair_

_Beside she'll sit and grow to care_

_For love to win, she must drink_

_Of rose and pearls bathed in pink_

_For if you wish her at your side_

_A love potion will make her your bride_

_"I don't under-" He looked up, his eyes seeking out the witch, but she was gone, leaving not even footprints in her wake._

Xxxx=

_A love potion will make her your bride. _Merope straightened in her seat before springing from it entirely, heading once more for the potion cupboard. "A love potion." The words were whispered as she searched through the sparse bottles they retained for common ailments, knowing all the while it wouldn't be there. There was no reason for a love potion to be in their possession. She grabbed at the stack of parchment inside, recipes.

Merope flipped through the worn pages with such irreverence her father would have scolded her had he been there. When she reached the letter L, she paused, searching for the name in hopefulness. Sure enough, once written in her mother's hand writing was "Love Potion." Her eyes scanned the recipe beneath, reading aloud to herself. "Ashwinder eggs…rose petals…peppermint…pearl dust." It was all stuff she could find at the market, although the price may exceed what little savings she had been able to keep.

She was not the squib her father claimed. Her magic had diminished overtime, from disuse or grief, she wasn't sure, but she had enough. Her trips to the market almost always resulted in a confundus charm and little to no pounds spent. Theft, that was the simple word for it. Rarely did she pay. She was always careful, never taking more than she had money for. Her father would have grown suspicious otherwise. Instead, the money set aside for groceries was pocketed, hidden for the day she may leave this place.

It was easier to endure the slurs her father threw at her, to let him believe she possessed no power. Things would be expected from her otherwise, things she didn't feel comfortable doing. No matter the fact that her brother seemed to be nearer to a squib than she, the hatred was reserved for her. She held her tongue.

It had been easy enough to frighten the horse today, her thin wand hid carefully at the side of her dress, a stinging hex cast on Danford's hock. It had had the desired effect, Tom falling from atop his horse and her there, offering aid. She'd even been given the opportunity to insult his insufferable sweetheart.

The act would be easy to replicate, though she'd have to be careful. She would have to wait before the charm was cast again, the horse spooked beside her twice in a row was too suspicious. She had hidden in the shadows for years, a couple more weeks was insignificant in comparison.

She stuffed the recipe into her dress pocket along with a handful of her precious pounds. Most of these ingredients would have to be bought at the wizarding shop in town, a place that she wouldn't dream of confunding.

Xxxx

She had whittled away the hours of that night perfecting her potion. The ingredients she had been able to afford weren't of the best quality and it pained her to see her savings dwindle so, but, if things went as planned, soon she would have access to Tom's fortune as well. More money than she could ever dream of.

She had had to be careful, had brewed with as little noise as possible. She couldn't alert Morfin or her father to her activities and that had only lengthened the process, but now, as the love potion shimmered before her, smelling of polish and gardens and a scent she supposed was uniquely Tom's, she knew the struggle had been worth it. The potion was completed.

Withdrawing herself from the inviting scent, she poured the viscous fluid into a small vial. This wasn't how it was supposed to be; she was sure of it. Although she'd never seen one used, Merope was confident it should resemble the consistency of a drink, not molasses. But, it was too late. She didn't have enough money to try again, this had to work. She corked the glistening liquid, blocking the swirling pink smoke that dredged up thoughts of downing it herself, but that would contribute nothing to her cause.

She stared at the bottle, entranced by it, when the familiar clop of horses met her ears. The potion was stuffed into her pocket without a moment's thought and she rushed to the dirty mirror, fussing about her hair. She was thankful that this time she had clean _dry_ robes. This was the best she was ever going to look under such circumstances, it was the perfect time to slip him the potion, if only she could figure out how.

She was already beginning to ignore the resolve she set last night, that she wouldn't cause an incident two days in a row. She rubbed at the bruise that had formed on her cheek days ago, hidden beneath aged, caked make up. She was desperate to be free of this place.

In her distraction, she hadn't noticed the pause of hoofprints or the steps toward her door. She jumped at the thumps rung against the wood and it took a second to calm her fried nerves before she could step toward it, pull it open.

"Tom?" The hesitant smile of warmth on his face froze and she remembered that she shouldn't have known it, that other than yesterday they had had no interaction.

"You know my name?"

She blushed, glancing down. "Your girlfriend uses it quite frequently. I hear you when you ride past."

He looked around him, at the thin and bare walls, the exposed framework of the house. It was no question she had heard them, and it seemed he came to the same conclusion.

"What brings you back?" She rushed, anxiety morphing with her embarrassment into something quite unpleasant.

"That drink, the blue one. Medicine was it?"

"What…what about it?" The rolling of her stomach started, reaching it's monstrous from. She suddenly wished that he would go, rather than accuse her of whatever he was about to.

His brow furrowed, eyebrows knitting together while he looked over her head and into the home beyond. "It worked. I've never had anything like it." There was astonishment in his eyes as he ran his hand through his dark hair.

"Would you like another drink?"

He shook his head. "Really, I just wanted to see if you had more should another opportunity for it arise. Danford isn't fully broken yet, I've been injured a time or two."

She tipped her head back, gesturing inside. "Come on in, I'll check."

He gave a weak smile, betraying the hint of embarrassment in his cheeks. He glanced carefully over his shoulder before stepping inside at her direction. Her stomach constricted around the continuous knot that resided there. He was making sure he wasn't seen, wasn't seen with _her. _She thought of the pink potion in the pocket of her dress, the one she was about to give him. She realized now that it was her only chance. If he was ever to love her, she'd have to push him into it.

He arched an eyebrow and Merope broke off her stare, hoping the thoughts that had just filtered through her mind weren't displayed on her face, the heart break. "I'll go look." She mumbled, turning away, hiding the wetness of her eyes she was afraid would trickle down her cheeks. "I was in the market today, Ms. Radsworth was selling some juice, has raspberry in it I believe." She poured some of the juice in question into the glass before looking back at him, to check for his reaction or perhaps that he wasn't watching, she wasn't sure.

His back was to her, his Mack again stretched across a chair. She hesitated, entranced by the broad muscles of his back beneath his shirt, his arms hanging loosely at his sides as he examined the house. She would never call it a home.

She carefully slipped the potion from her dress, pulling out the recently placed cork before dumping the vial into the glass, disguising it amongst the red juice she had bought earlier that day. "Here." She nudged him, a flicker of heat coming from beneath his shirt to her fingertips. "I'll see if I have any more po-" She cleared her throat. "Medicine."

It was silent as she searched, knowing it was unlikely they had more. If her father saw the first bottle was missing…she didn't even want to think about it.

"Pictures, you don't have any pictures." Tom broke the silent tension that had grown in the moments that passed. She watched as he lifted the cup to his mouth, a frown appearing on his lips. She wondered what it smelled like to him, if beneath the scent of fruit, he was reminded of Cecilia. Seeming to pick a side of his internal debate, he tipped the glass back, the liquid sliding down his throat. The seizing of her heart stopped, the pounding of it dwindling to something that was likely barely keeping her alive as she waited in anticipation.

"We…we don't have any." She stammered, answering his previous observation. "There's no need. You wouldn't pause for a photograph with the ones you hated, would you?"

"Merope" He sounded her name, his tongue rolling over every letter like it was the sweetest candy. The name he had appeared not to know just moments before. He approached her, his eyes an intense blaze of something she didn't understand, something that had never been directed at her. This was different than the burning rage she received from Marvolo; this was…love.

The brown of his irises mixed with the gold flecks within, creating a glazed effect across the surface of his eyes. Had she done that? She found herself backing away, uneasy by the look in his eyes, memories of a life before flashing in her mind. Guilt.

"_Merope."_ The tenderness was gone, notes of passion seeping into his voice. He reached her before she could fully back off, his fingers grazing the sensitive space of skin between her neck and shoulder, barely touching it at all. Providing a gentleness, she hadn't known existed. His fingers moved back, sweeping a chunk of her dark hair away. She tipped her shoulder instinctively, giving in to what he was suggesting. Worries of what she had done gone.

His hands fluttered around her, each graze followed by an even gentler kiss, a light suck of her skin and then he moved on to the next. He traveled around her throat, behind her ear, over to her chin, but never on her lips.

Her nerves surged with a desire she didn't know was possible, the pulse of her blood pounding in her head, driving away the thought of anything else but the man in front of her. Only when she thought she couldn't take it any longer did his lips meet hers. Thin, but strong, forceful, and sweet, so sweet. And on his skin lingered the scent in the potion she hadn't been able to place earlier.


	3. Chapter 3

There was the sound of flesh pounding against flesh hours later when Tom left. The whispered hiss of a spell, the flash of light, the scream of pain. She found herself rushing to his aid for the second time in two days. Never had Morfin outright attacked a muggle, but they had all been waiting for the day, knowing it would come.

Tom had caressed her, had kissed her with a gentle passion, held her in his arms. He had shown her that there was more to her greatest desire. It was all she could think of as she stood above him on the ground, his lip bloodied, his one arm clasped in the other.

"_What have you done?" _She whirled on her brother, her body shaking with anger. "You idiot! You…you…" And the wand was turned on her. Before she could help Tom, before she could do anything, she fell to the ground beside him.

What followed was a blur. Tom had fled, daggers in his eyes as he stared at her one last time, had ignored what she called out to him. Her chest had heaved with a powerful sob and she curled in on herself, letting time and circumstance pass her by. Had hardly even noticed when Marvolo had come, when he'd given punishment of his own.

A man had come the next day, Ogden, she thought that's what he said. He had taken them both, the last two remaining members of her family and left her alone. That wasn't what bothered her most, though. Tom had passed by, the catty laugh of Cecilia criticizing them yet again. And, this time, Tom had agreed with her. He'd been obliviated shortly after, healed by the wizard who had come. The incident then only existed in _her _mind. With the healing magic had come her chance again, and with the loneliness, money.

Her father had left behind a rationed stash. It could have been used for food, but given that it had been hidden beneath his things, she suspected it was saved for drink, a selfish desire and nothing else. She had survived this long on the minimum, what was a little longer? If it provided her enough money to purchase the ingredients of the potion, the metaphorical rope by which she'd reel Tom in, it was worth the prolonged suffering, the chance to heal the emotional wounds Tom had inflicted. The problem was finding an opportunity to slip him another potion, an opportunity that didn't come for weeks.

Xxxx

She was the most tattered maiden in the village, it wasn't hard for Tom to realize it was Merope standing at the well before he'd even reached it. Before, she'd carried the dancing of a weak flame inside her being, the kind that could be blown out by the slightest breeze. Now it was strong, the burgeoning flame shining through, feeding off the oxygen it touched. It was a difference he wouldn't have noticed had he not spent some of his time in her company.

And, that dream. Tom shook his head. It had stuck with him, of them snogging, embracing, the scent of horse manure dancing up from the drink she had given him. It was a dream, surely, but why did it feel so real? Why had he had it all? He loved Cecilia more than anything in this world, had planned to make her his betrothed. These were the thoughts filling his head as he trudged up the grassy hill, pulled by an invisible string in Merope's direction.

"Afternoon." He tipped his head, his voice more brusque than he had meant it. Merope jumped. Her eyes flashed wide with a momentary fear before a smile flickered to life and her gaze was averted.

"Tom."

He watched as she finished filling her bucket with water before he spoke again. "Won't that be heavy?"

She gave a quick jerk of her head. "I'm…I'm stronger than I look." She heaved it from the well, giving a grunt that made them both laugh. Merope placed it on the ground, bunching the fabric of her dress – red, this time – in her hands. The wrinkles she forced into the fabric would stay until the garment was washed again. "I owe you an apology."

"An apology?" His bucket connected, he lowered it into the well.

"For…for…" She seemed unable to say anything else and he wondered if the event was as foggy for her as it was him. He remembered the pain, that Morfin was involved, but if someone had asked him for details he wouldn't have been able to give them.

He gave a passive wave of his hand, turning away from her. "It's fine, really."

"No, it isn't. Let me make it up to you." The outer corners of her eyes dipped downwards, pleading with him.

Tom sighed, brushing away the strands of hair that had fallen in his eyes. "Alright." He consented after a beat "_Alright_." Before she could say another word, he bent, picking up her pail of water after he freed his. "But, I'm carrying this."

"Ever the gentleman."

Xxxx

For weeks this continued, meeting her at some spontaneous location, the two of them traipsing back to her home, the animal hunger that followed. He couldn't ever remember feeling this way about another human being before, not even Cecilia. And, Cecilia, she rarely entered his mind any more. When she did, it wasn't with guilt or a need, everything he could have asked for was fulfilled by Merope, the woman he had never expected.

Kisses cast in darkness, loving touches beneath the moonlight ones that ended far to soon and sent him home more than confused. There was a throbbing need between them that kept them glued to one another's side. The problem was, he only felt this way beside her. At night, when he'd returned to his quarters, when he disrobed and lay in bed with only his thoughts keeping him company, did he feel almost…disgusted. It confused him. When they weren't together he had absolutely no desire to return to her side, but then the next day he'd find her at the market, the well, her own home, and they'd resume where they left off.

"I never want to part from you." That's what she had told him once, whispered close to his ear as he told her it was time for him to leave. His heart had thudded inside his chest, beating painfully against his ribs at the idea. It was another one of those moments where he was enamored with the idea while beside her, and perplexed when he was alone.

"Mum and dad won't agree with my choice." That's the reassurance he had given himself, the reasoning as to why he felt so badly, and it was true. He had been slated to marry a girl with riches that could match his own, beauty incomparable. Instead, he was choosing the woman – who could hardly be called such – with uneven features, the one who he had barely taken notice of in the years leading to this moment.

He'd paid attention – perhaps too much – too her crazed father and even more dangerous brother, forgetting that she was there entirely. There was the tingle of memory that she hadn't been the only woman there once, that there'd been another, one erased by time. "What happened to your mother?" He had asked one evening as he ate across from her, beneath the flicker of candlelight.

She had pushed her plate away, her appetite forgotten. Her eyes dropped away from his, fingers catching on one another. It was a habit he had learned in their hours together, a sign that made him realize she was nervous. Tom came around the table, clasping one of her fidgeting hands in his, using a finger to tilt her chin upwards and meet his gaze. He had rubbed at her chin, coaxing her on, the nervousness away. Eventually the moisture there had dried, and he waited patiently all the while. "It…it was an…an accident." Her voice shook. "I was too excited…too strong…and I…I…" Her eyelids squeezed against each other, keeping the tears in place. "I didn't mean to kill her…I just wanted her to listen."

Tom was quiet. He had expected the story that her mother had gotten sick, that she had passed when Merope was a young girl. It seemed that only the second part was true. He wanted to push for more, to beg her for answers he knew she wouldn't be comfortable giving, but that was just it. She was so fragile. Invisible cracks ran along her, signs of the porcelain she was made of. He couldn't add another. "Tom, you should go." Her voice had been rough, he was afraid he had done just that.

She tried to free her fingers from his, but he knew he wouldn't be leaving this place, not again. He couldn't let her go. "Merope, wait."

She did as he said, her brown eyes meeting his in painful anticipation. His arms came around her, palms placed low on her back. Her head tilted backwards, minimizing the height difference between them. He kissed her deeply, tasting the meat upon her lips and pressing her body flush against his. A huff of surprise had escaped her. He expected her to back away, to ask him to leave again, but instead her hands came up. Her fingers resting on his neck, tangling into his dark hair.

When he felt as though he could catch his breath, could form the words did he release her, dropping to his knee. "Run away with me, be mine." He drew a ring from the interior of his pocket, an emerald surrounded by tendrils of gold, white diamonds surrounding the larger stone. It had been his grandmother's. Proposing in a shack had never been his intention, even as a young boy, but he knew it was what he wanted. Her hands flung towards her mouth, covering the surprise that had formed there. Her eyes, previously wet with tears, now danced in excitement.

"Yes, yes. Of course, I will." The words had been rushed, almost incomprehensible. She seemed happier than he thought possible, and he slipped the ring onto her finger. When he stood, his arms went around her again and he twirled her. Her dark strands of hair blowing behind in the breeze the two of them created as they melted together, as they formed one, just as they soon would in marriage.

Xxxx

_Edmund had captured his sweetheart in just a few weeks time. The love potion had done its trick, Alcyone becoming just as greedy for him as he had once been for her. But, the witch of before had remained distant. He hadn't seen her since that night she had proffered her suggestion, hadn't given her a second thought. She had sprung to life in front of him, providing a solution to his greatest quest, before vanishing into the valleys. Edmund the Enchanting was too distracted with the woman in his arms, by his side, that he never stopped to think the witch could bring him harm._


	4. Chapter 4

Drunk on nettle wine and excitement, Merope had followed Tom to his mansion that night. They had wasted no time in returning to his home, collecting his things. She had never been there, had only admired it from the gate along the road when she had had the opportunity to without being caught. Never had she thought she'd actually be inside.

The furniture was a deep mahogany, draped with red cloth. Gold ornamentation lined the walls, swirls and damasks morphing with the scarlet of the room. The colors of Gryffindor from a school she had denied the attendance of. It was extravagant, more than she had ever expected. In a way, it was hers.

Merope admired the heavy ring upon her finger. Tom had proposed. _Tom had proposed!_ She thought with this potion she would earn herself a few stolen moments with the man of her dreams, the man she had watched traipse up and down the road in the past years. Having him slung on her arm was another surprise entirely. A proposal, marriage.

She watched in a daze as Tom rushed about, collecting items she hardly deemed necessary and stuffing them into leather suitcases as excessive as the room around them. He'd glance back occasionally, stealing smiles from her lips she was all too excited to give. He'd pause momentarily, giving her a tender kiss here and there, as if reminding her what they were doing here, where they were going. There was a priest in the next town over, a chapel they could elope in the next morning.

The entire world was at their fingertips, because no matter where they went, they would be together. The big wide world beyond the windows of the mansion felt attainable. She was no longer frightened by what lay beyond, because Tom would be there to protect her.

"Danford, we need Danford." He grabbed a pair of riding boots, forcing them inside an already full suitcase. "You said you used to ride? Right?" Merope was hardly able to give her consent before he rushed on, his words covering hers. "Franny, she's calm, you'd like her. We'll need two to pull the carriage, after all."

"A carriage? Horses? Isn't this all a bit…excessive?" Her eyes found her own shabby suitcase that wasn't even full. She'd had no interest in most of her things, bringing supplies for potions and a few days' worth of clothes. Tom would buy her more; she was sure of it. It had taken her all of ten minutes to throw her things together and scrawl a note to her father. Should he ever come back, he would know that she wouldn't. She hadn't even given her childhood home a last glance, having no desire to remember where she came from. She just wanted to be beside Tom for the remainder of her life. "I'd love Franny." She decided.

"She's a dun, only a few years old…"

His voice faded away as she was lost in her thoughts, her eyes caught by the handsome man in front of her.

Xxxx

The ceremony was small, their clothes ordinary. The only other people their assigned witness and the priest. Merope didn't allow her thoughts to stray on that too long, the fact that neither of them had family, that they had had to run away. Tom had done this because he knew she would never be accepted by his parents, and near to the surface, she knew that too. She tried to bury the painful thought, that she wasn't enough, that she wouldn't be regarded as a daughter, but rather the wench that had stolen their son. Such thoughts were too painful, and she focused on the present, the man in front of her.

He was clothed in black dress wear and she in white, the closest thing she had had to a wedding dress. If she was honest, even this dress had been transfigured. She hadn't had anything nice enough to befit a wedding to the man of her dreams, to becoming Mrs. Tom Riddle, she had had to make it, just as she had fabricated everything else.

She pushed off such worries of "not being enough" or "not having enough" as things that would change now that Tom was by her side. He was dashingly handsome, and he loved her. He loved _her. _He had chosen _her. _Cecilia was gorgeous, Merope had compared herself to the other woman more times than she could count, never satisfied with her own looks, instead focused on what she did have, what Tom wanted that she couldn't give, but here they were.

On the 4th, of April 1926, the two of them professed their never-ending love, their desire to be the other half of each other's heart. It was that day that Merope's fairytale ending came. She had wasted away hours of her life retelling the stories her mother once had, distracting herself with her knight in shining armor, the man on the white horse coming to rescue her. And here, in this chapel, their horses tied outside, that ending had come to fruition.

They smiled, proffered words of love that she daren't ever tell another. He was her only and the gleaming look of love in his eyes, even beneath the haze that clouded them, told her he felt the same. And she was happy, she was _finally_ happy.

Tom bent forward, placing a fluttering kiss across her lips, cementing the vows they had made, that they would love one another for ever more. She reciprocated, returning the gesture with more force than he. He had made her the happiest girl in the world, she needed to show him how much that mattered, how much she needed him beside her. "I love you, Tom." She whispered, her voice soft and meek, trembling with the emotion it held. "You are my happily ever after."

His fingers tightened in her hair, the long tendrils of which hung down her back. "And you mine, my sweet."

Xxxx

They had consummated their marriage just after, fulfilling a need they had yearned for for far too long, a hunger deep inside them. They lay in one another's arms, unable to tell where one of them started and the other ended. They were a tangle of bare bodies, of limbs so wrapped up in one another they could never dream of separating.

The curtain of their hotel room had been drawn back, letting streaks of moonlight slip in through the panes of glass, painting their naked bodies in streaks of white, and they gazed at it. Tom leaned close, his lips grazing her ear. His voice came out as a low hum that caused bumps to erupt on her skin, she shivered beneath his touch as he sang. "Her golden hair in ringlets fair, her eyes like diamonds shining, her slender waist, her heavenly face, that leaves my heart still pining."

Passion anew entered her eyes as she looked up at him. The words of her mother's song leaving his voice. "O never shall I forget the night, the stars were bright above me, and gently lent their silvery light, when first she vowed to love me." Her honeyed voice intertwined with his as she finished his tune, the one she had thought was long forgotten, was hers and hers alone.

He smiled back, his hand brushing across her forehead, his fingertips smooth against hers. "Merope Riddle." Her name was sounded slow as it had been weeks before, the words sweet on his lips. "How I love you." She craned her neck upwards, meeting his in one last kiss before the two of them drifted into unburdened sleep, kept safe by the one they loved.

Xxxx

When morning came, as did the need to move on. One of the suitcases – that she supposed were now _theirs_ rather than his – had been filled with pounds, leaving them prepared for any burden that should come their way.

With their things stowed inside the carriage, their horses taken from the stables, the two of them began their journey. Beneath the sounds of hooves scrabbling across graveled roads, hidden under whinnies and neighs, the worry that Tom would need his potion in a few hours' time had begun to root inside her stomach.

The drug lasted nearly a day, Tom requiring a dose as each evening neared. The night before had been their second spent together, if one counted the journey of the day before. She had been able to supply the necessary potion, but she was concerned with their travels the potion would lose effectiveness, that he may begin to question why they were together.

Merope found that despite the concern that had birthed inside her, hope eclipsed it. Tom must love her, must truly love her. Would he have proposed if he didn't feel that desire to be beside her deep in his heart? With the potion began infatuation, the nudge that their relationship needed. They had grown far beyond that.

As their horses took steady steps, the carriage wobbling across the footworn path, she found comfort. Soon enough she would be able to wean him off. They would be able to start a relationship unburdened by amortentia.

Tom's dark eyes found hers in the yellow of mid-day. Her lips spread into a smile, guided solely by her heart and she leaned towards him. Merope could feel the lurch of his shoulder beneath her as they travelled, the horses falling into a rhythm. Her eyes drifted closed with the movement, the musky scent of his skin.

Xxxx

_Their love began slowly then fell upon them all at once. The hesitation that had once lay in Alcyone's eyes had been replaced by an unburdened love, a reciprocation of what Edmund had desired all along. Days grew together, the hours and minutes crashing into each other, sped along by kisses and the occasional caress of skin. _

_Alcyone, while beautiful, was a villager. She lived in simplicity, without extravagance. Edmund provided her with jewels she never could have imagined, draping her in diamonds and rubies interspersed with sapphires. She was dressed in the finest linens and hung off his arm equally majestic as he. _

_When she had taken up residence beside him, invited to live as his future queen, did the rumors start. Questions of what she had done to bring herself in the prince's favor._

Xxxx

"Merope, my love." His voice was the whisper of wind through trees, the ripples across a lake as he cooed beside her, shaking her shoulder gently. She stirred, the image of him filling her vision when she woke, A tangle of black curls that had been freed from their slick to fall across his forehead, the scent of travel intertwined with the threads of his clothes.

He stared at her, licking his lips. Only then did she realize the indigo that surrounded them, the skies darkened by time that hadn't been there before. The glitter that was splattered across. She had slept upon his shoulder all this time, more exhausted than she thought. "Do we have anything to drink?" Came his velvet voice again, deep in all the right places.

She blinked the sleep from her eyes, gazing around them. There was no sign of civilization, and the exhaustion that Tom carried was evident. "Let us stop here, only for the night."

"And sleep where?" He chuckled, his arm gesturing to the empty hills around them. "On rocks and brambles?"

She straightened despite the protests of her spine, hitching the hem of her dress up so that she may step from the carriage. Merope stepped towards the suitcases, her eyes falling easily on the bag that was hers, the hole ridden baggage that she ought to repair. She undid the clasps that did little to hold it closed, finding a bottle colored maroon by night amongst the top. With it, she returned to his side.

When it was passed to him and down his throat, did she speak again, with only slight hesitation. "There are…other ways to bring us comfort."

"There are no ducks to pluck for our pillows."

"No, but there is this." From her seat beside him, she pulled her wand from the pocket of her dress, one she had sewn just to keep it in. She held the light wood of the handle tightly, offering it for his view. When he opened his mouth – no doubt confused by the stick – she explained. "I'm a witch. I- I can do magic."

Tom laughed heartily, even the noise that was forced from his lungs pleasurable against her ears. "A village should only be several kilometers away." He said, dismissing her idea as little more than an attempt at humor.

"And if I could provide us safety, a bed? Here?" It was her turn to point towards a flat spot of land beside a tree, the perfect place to hitch the horses. She instructed him forward, and he did as he was commanded, the horses trotting several more paces. When she asked him to stop, he stopped, watching her with such skepticism she was reminded of her father.

Merope found a rock amongst the weed strewn ground, determined now more than ever to prove him wrong. She placed it down in front of her, a transfiguration charm leaving her lips. Blue light lit up the sky, the bolt coming from the tip of her wands before colliding with the stone she had selected.

It grew, rock turning into cloth as it expanded, unfolded before them. Only a moment later did a tent sit in front of them, already secured to the ground. Stunned silence met her ears, bringing forth a victorious smile. She selected a pebble that rested against her shoe, placing it inside the tent and transforming it into a bed.

The sound of boots scuffed along the spines of leaves, the blades of grass as he approached, abandoning the horses, their things to see what she had done. Tom ran his fingers along the fabric of the tent, turning to her in amazement. "My Father told stories, but I never…" As his voice faded, his eyes were clouded by memory. "Your family, they're magical too, aren't they?"

She nodded, almost ashamed, knowing he now remembered the details of Morfin's attack "I'm not like them." She promised, worried that he might associate the danger of her brother with her. Merope fought away the thought that maybe she was more like them than she wanted to be.

"And it's…it's safe?" He questioned, ignoring her statement and filling her with relief. He didn't back away, he didn't insult her, instead he wanted to know more.

"Perfectly. If we attach our horses to that tree." She pointed to the one she had noticed before. "I can cast a shield charm to protect us, our things. We can rest for the night."

She watched the tightness of his shoulders release, his upper back slumping at the idea. "I'd quite like that."

She allowed her smile to come back over her finally, the hint of tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away as they stepped once more towards the carriage, undoing the bindings that held the horses to it.

She ran her hand along Fanny's golden coat that sparkled even in the darkness of evening. Her fur shimmered as she walked, led slowly by Merope. Tangling her fingers in the black mane, she scratched at the horse's skin for a final time.

The horses were attached, finally allowed the rest that she and Tom had been privy to all day. Tom fed them their grain as she cast the charms to hide them from any thieves that may pass by.

She retired to the tent, lighting a candle inside. As she stripped, her stomach cried for food, a necessity she had denied it since morning. Warm hands were upon her suddenly, soft and unmarred as they touched her sides, drawing her bare body close.

Tom ran his fingers along her ribs, no doubt questioning her scrawniness. "We have little food." He muttered between the kisses he placed on her neck, beneath her hair. "I hadn't expected such a journey."

Merope shook her head. She had gone many nights without a meal, what was one more? She doubted Tom could say the same. "I'm quite all right. You'll need it so that we may travel tomorrow."

His arms snaked around her middle, holding her tightly against himself. "You can't…conjure us some?"

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way." She turned her face towards him, her hand wandering up the stubble that she had never seen grow on his skin, but that had come in the days since they left home.

He was quiet a moment more before the shuffle of fabric sounded, Tom becoming equally indecent. "I'm much too tired, and there are other things I'd like to do." He growled beside her ear, flicking it with his tongue.

She faced him completely, cupping his cheeks and kissing him with all she could. She still felt the need to touch him, to hold him, to reassure herself that he was really there, and this could do just that.


	5. Chapter 5

They lay beside one another, only the noise of crickets between them. Night had fallen fully, and their candle had snuffed, leaving only silhouettes visible. Tom ran a finger along her skin, tracing patterns into her back. She lay on her stomach, her arms beneath her head, nearly asleep when he spoke.

"Your mother." His voice paused as did his tracing and she stiffened. "Was it magic? That killed her?"

Her mind was flooded with wheat and summer air, of picking berries and herbs in the sweltering heat of the sun._ Her mum stood beside her, basket in hand, a head full of dark hair and eyes that were the same as Merope's. She had always been the image of her mother._

"I was young." She began, her voice frozen inside her throat. The prickles of ice stabbed her as she forced the words out and into the air where she couldn't take them back. "I didn't yet know how to control it."

_She felt the grip of her mFother's hand, tight against her wrist as she pulled her forward and away from a frog that Merope had found nestled amongst the plants. "Mer, we have to go. We don't have time for childish games!"_

_Merope's hand hovered above the animal. She watched it, the frog growing taller and fatter before shrinking back down again and causing her to giggle. She ignored the rough jerk of her arm that tried to force her to stand. "Merope!" Came her mother's voice again, harsher than it had been before._

"We were supposed to go home, to prepare dinner, but I wasn't ready to leave. I'd only just discovered what I could do." She listened to the soft inhales and exhales that reminded her that Tom was beside her, that she was no longer trapped amongst the field.

_"Come, now." Her mum insisted again, Merope's shoulder giving a painful crack from the yank that was placed on it. She toppled from her crouched position, falling fully to the dirt ground below them. Her lip began to tremble as her vision clouded, hot drops streaking across her cheeks._

_"I don't want to go." She insisted, not ready for her playing to be over. She wanted to hide amongst the plants, wanted to discover what else she could do with her magic. What else she could do to her frog._

_Instead of a reply, there came a stream of vibrant green light, colliding with the frog that had begun to hop away. Its body stilled at the light's touch. It went limp, not even its sides rising and falling._

_"I said come."_

_Merope let out a shriek. The flutter of birds fleeing their roosts followed, their sound intermingled with her yell, with the wind blowing across the field. Tendrils of light escaped her, jolting down her arms, down every hair of her head before fleeing from her body and beyond._

"She made me mad." Merope choked; her cheeks stained with the memory she never tried to relive. "I only wanted to hurt her, to make her let go. I didn't mean… I never meant-" Tom pulled her to him, her following words muffled against his skin.

She couldn't tell him what followed. How she had shaken her mother, begging her to wake, how she had coated her mum in the salt of her tears. She didn't speak of her short journey home, of how the words had barely escaped her as she had shaken her dad's sleeve, begging him to come along. She didn't tell Tom of the beating that followed, the bruises that had covered her body or how things within their house had begun to change.

She didn't even voice how that was when her magic had begun to stop. How she had retreated inside herself, careful never to conjure that spell again. Instead, she sobbed against him, making sounds she didn't even know she was capable of. Her body trembled beneath his touch and he allowed her to cry. He didn't follow up her story with more questions, didn't force her away for fear that it would happen again, he only loved her.

Xxxx

Merope wasn't sure when the tears had ended, and sleep had begun. She only registered that when she woke it was no longer night. The chirps of birds filled the air, and the sulfur scent of some nearby river burned her nostrils.

Tom was silent as they dressed, as they gathered their things. The space between them was punctuated with looks of curiosity, of pity, and perhaps shame that he had brought this forth. She ignored the questions that so clearly lay in his eyes as they set off on the road once more. She leaned against him, her body numb to the jostling, to the fresh air that danced across her skin. If Tom spoke at all, she didn't hear it, and he didn't push.

The next town had been farther than he though, and they didn't arrive until hours later. She wasn't even aware that they were there until the sound of hooves on gravel changed to that of cobblestones. She straightened, looking at the buildings around them.

They were different than the ones of their hometown, newer. They'd been built to last, made whole. Even the wizarding shop she had purchased her supplies from before had been patched, its roof once hole ridden, its walls full of termites.

As they drew into the center of town, they could hear the nearby rumble of crashing waves. Glancing between the buildings that been constructed so closely together, she could see the murky depths that lay beyond, the aquamarine that sparkled beneath the sun. "I've never been to the coast before." Her voice was tight, full of the tears she still carried in her heart, the guilt. She swiped a hand across her long-ago dried cheeks, rubbed at her eyes.

"We used to summer up north." He explained; his own eyes drawn to the sea. "The water was much too cold to swim in, but here…"

"Let's stay." She pleaded, anxious to wade in the water, to feel the tickle of seaweed against her skin, to pick through the wet sand for shells.

Tom's deep laughter came at her words. "I'd like that as well."

They wandered through the streets of the town; their hearts set on the edges of civilization. Merope ignored the glances they received from passersby. She wondered what they thought of them, if they noticed that her eyes were too far apart compared to his, that he was muscular and svelte while she was weedy. He sat tall, while she caved in on herself. They were mismatched.

She remembered the tale of Alcyone, how beautiful both she and Edmund had been. It was the last part of the story that she remembered, that she wished was true for her. She supposed a glamor charm could change that, that she could improve her appearance with just a little help, but it wasn't something she wanted to attempt.

When she had begun using magic again, it had always been on things, never people. She was too afraid to hurt her family further, to bring a similar harm of before. Merope clutched at the heavy necklace that hung around her neck, the elongated octagon pressed tightly to her palm. Her thumb ran up the gold chain. She remembered with a pang where she had come from and wondered distantly if her father was okay.

"Why do you wear that thing?" Tom nodded his head towards it, no doubt noticing the unpolished gold, the chipped jewels. "My love deserves better."

"It's an heirloom." She explained with slight annoyance. "I come from a line of powerful witches and wizards. This once belonged to them."

He frowned, perhaps not understanding why that mattered. To him – she figured – beauty was more important. Her pendant didn't fit that description.

"And if I were to buy you finer things, you would wear them?"

Her fingers found his, clasping to the outside of his hand as he held onto the reigns. "I would love whatever you could provide." The ring on her finger signaled that she belonged to him, but she wanted more. She wanted to bask in the lifestyle that he was offering, that she had always dreamed of.

Merope realized then that she didn't need a glamor charm to change people's opinions of her. Tom alone could do that. Perhaps with silken dresses, with glittering jewels, people would realize they were meant to be together.

She was tired of her shabby dresses, of the stains that dotted them. She was sick of the reminder of who she was and what it meant about her. She was Mrs. Riddle and she wanted to appear that way.

Xxxx

The riches she had wanted came in the weeks after. They had found a home on the edges of the coast that befitted the name of Riddle. It was much too large for the two of them, larger than she thought she would like, but small in comparison to the Riddle Manor.

A stable rested on the edges of their land – one she had conjured – that held both Fanny and Danford while a path led from the property down to the sandy beach.

One of their favorite activities quickly became riding along the water's edge. She enjoyed the feel of a horse between her legs, choosing to ride properly rather than like that of Cecilia. They'd listen to the waves roll onto the shore, stealing a piece of the beach each time it retreated. Occasionally, they'd dismount and feel the sand beneath their toes instead.

She'd pull her dress up around her knees, allowing the water to rush over her toes. And Tom would steal her. As she felt the sand slip from beneath her feet, his arms would come across her abdomen suddenly, and he would spin her in the air. Merope laughed, an excitement living permanently inside of her.

The villagers no longer stared, and she was considered equal to Tom. They attended the parties of their neighbors, had dinners with their friends. He gave her necklaces, and she purchased dresses far more extravagant than necessary, and they were in love.

Their days passed this way for weeks, the only difference in tonight being that she had decided to wean him from his potion.

It started when he complained of thirst, the signal - as always - that it was time for another dose. Merope always felt guilty when he questioned her for a drink, knowing that it was something more than love that gave him such a desire, but when she gave in and he returned to normal, she couldn't help but feel she had done what was right.

It was tonight that she gave him three quarters of his dose. Within minutes after he swallowed did the lust in his eyes return, the touches that never left her body. They made love, and as he drifted to sleep in the bed that they shared, in the home that was thiers. A smile of true happiness spread across her lips.

Tom loved her, he really loved her. There had been no question in his eyes as he had hovered above her, no lack of heat as he had sucked at the skin of her neck. Even now, beneath the emerald green blankets she had chosen, his arm was slung across her, holding her body tight to him.

She snuggled closer beside him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest and drifting into a sleep of her own.


End file.
